


Chasing Plot Bunnies

by BurntBeebs



Category: Transformers: Rescue Bots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntBeebs/pseuds/BurntBeebs
Summary: A little drabble in which Chase struggles with writer's block.





	Chasing Plot Bunnies

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from my (now dead) FF account, but with some fixes to errors I missed the first time around. Hopefully a fresh look was all I needed to find any mistakes or odd stuff, but as always, any critique is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!

Things were relatively quiet in Griffin Rock, it was an uncharacteristically peaceful day, with no real emergencies...at least not yet.

Down beneath the firehouse, the bots were busying themselves with their favorite newfound hobbies. Boulder was near the bookshelf with his easel, painting a still life, while Blades sat at the sofa, watching the latest episode of Cupcake Hoarders. Heatwave had long since given up on beating up his training post, now uneasily pacing back and forth near the lift, ready for action.

The lack of activity on this accident prone island was always like a calm before the storm...he _knew_ something was bound to happen soon. It was like clockwork. Off to a corner, Chase sat on a small crate, a larger one right in front of him acting as a makeshift table, upon which sat his typewriter, comically small in proportion to the mech. Atop his helm was the equally disproportionately sized fedora; he always wore it to get into character when it came to writing out his novels.

While something of a freewriter, preferring creating  original vignettes about random subjects (mostly relating to Noirs), he was inspired by his favorite show, Law and Justice. The show’s protagonist was interesting, the storytelling was compelling, the cases that were presented were almost always intriguing and more often than not had a satisfying conclusion. Though, the season finale admittedly left him wanting.

Blades suggested he write his own take on it, which was apparently a common thing fans of a series did, called ‘fan fiction’, and it opened up a whole new world to the bot.

After learning of this, he spent the entire night gathering as much information as he could on this subject in lieu of recharge, and to his delight there were many resources on the _world wide web_ , including forums where other fans shared his sentiment about the ending. His people, as they say. He processed and compiled as much material regarding the canon ending as he could find, including several outtakes known as 'bonus features’ and filtered them through his own ideas for what he would have liked to see.

And now he sat, mulling over exactly how it should go. He’s got the clearest picture of the perfect ending to the saga of Alan Steele in mind...he cracked his titanium knuckles, bringing his servos down to the ludicrously tiny keys…

...And nothing happened.

He exvented sharply to clear his processor and once again leaned toward the keys, before drawing back after a moment. He tapped his chin in thought.

_Maybe...hmm..no..But what if..?..No, no._

He considered beginning it in Steele’s apartment, for a more intricate look into his psyche as he prepared to face the day and how that would explain his actions later on…

Or rather it should begin in the station, setting a more focused look on the case at hand. Would it be acceptable to simply have the intro be a retelling of the actual episode’s cold opening?

He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t do.

This was his first venture into this _fan fiction_ and it had to be perfect! Chase drew back to sigh once more, before drooping forward and propping his chin onto his palm, squinting down at his blank sheet of paper, well, blank aside from the letter ‘t’. 

He was suddenly struck with the horrific thought of whether or not he could even properly write Alan Steele. He had perused many ‘fics’ in which the troubled but diligent detective acted so flagrantly contrary to his portrayed convictions that it nearly caused the police bot physical pain to read. Chase did not want to do Agent Steele such a disservice as well. Not just Alan, he might figuratively butcher the hero's partner and colleagues as well!

He was confident he had a good handle on writing out Vanessa Locklear, as he could relate to her on what you could call a ‘spiritual level’ with her dedication to following the law to the letter. The commissioner was very reminiscent of Chief Burns, so he was also confident he could write him just fine. But Alan himself?

He was an enigma, he toed the line between a firm distributor of the due process and a wanton vigilante, there were so many nuances to his character that eluded Chase, yet resonated with him all the same. He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all these subtleties with the finesse they deserved..

If he had hair he’d be pulling it out in frustration...if his frustration was able to manifest itself as more than just a very bemused glare at his typewriter that is. Moments flew by as he sat at the crate, and at some point Blades sauntered over to look over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, he found nothing had been written. He would’ve asked, but thought better than to disturb the police bot when he was brainstorming his creative writing. For whose sake it was, nobody knew. Sometimes he’d get roped into listening to an entire potential novel’s worth of concepts down to the most minute details, so he didn’t want to risk it.

Meanwhile Chase hadn’t even noticed Blades hovering over his shoulder, he was too wrapped up going through every possible twist and turn his story could take. All at once though, it was like the clouds parted and a ray of coherence shone down, ready to bathe him in inspiration and at last put the pedal to the metal as it were.

He was about to begin typing when suddenly the emergency alarm rang, yanking him from his blissful zen of direction and back to reality. The cold reality that there will be no progress with his story today. If he was a more emotional bot a pterodactyl screech might’ve escaped his vocalizer at this moment, but instead all that came out was a resigned sigh as he stood up and placed his hat on top of the archaic writing device as they headed up the lift.

Maybe next time, Agent Steele.


End file.
